When The Beat Stops
by maeveam
Summary: You house the heart fate destined you to claim; your soul's mate. You feel as they feel, they as you, and only when your eyes meet, two heartbeats skip as one, your breath stolen from your lungs does your soul find its half. Perhaps that's why Katsuki was suffocating.
1. Eyes Meet

It's always been so erratic.

He remembers as a child how his heart would flutter in a flurry of excitement as he ran through the overgrown greenery. He remembers how it stomped in hardened frustration when he didn't get his way. He remembers especially how he was lulled to sleep by its soothing repetition.

He remembers how it was once normal.

How he was once normal.

It starts off as no more than minor discomfort in his memories —dull, hardly noticeable. He grows, and with him, it's irregularity grew, a persistent intrusion on his feigned normalcy. " _It's no longer yours, Katsuki. It's your soulmate's_ ," he's told when he asks, never quite understanding how it's activity increased while he himself did little to cause it. Faster, faster, slower.

Faster, faster, slower.

He often listened to the sound of his soulmate's beat, the pace confusing despite what he knew. His heart —her heart, pounds fiercely against his skin while he sits perfectly still. Katsuki remembers thinking, maybe they're playing; he remembers dealing with the ache so she could enjoy her game.

 _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what_ , his mother would always chide. She still does, and he still caters to her needs.

Katsuki remembers it as a game spanning years. Who's heart can beat faster? He would run; he would run and jump and climb until his legs couldn't support him, sending an unhinged beat of his heart snapping hurriedly into her chest. He thought there was nothing that could beat the pace he set —he would always win against her. He was always wrong.

The organ in his chest always seemed to outbeat what he felt he sent to her; if he is a roaring flame, she is an inferno. He never knew why.

His youth sheds and Katsuki notices quickly that his heart never shed its pace; if anything it grew more intense, more erratic, painful. It's like clockwork, he remembers —first thing in the morning, always at sunset, through the night. Wash, rinse, repeat. It stops him in his tracks, his hand reaching for his clothed chest, willing her heart to be calm. He often swore she wanted to win their little game at all costs, for as often as she played.

Minor aches turned major as the throbbing sting traveled from his chest through his body. He was often left pleading silently for relief. Medication, overexertion, redirection -it never quite took the edge off; instead brings him towards more violent methods of liberation.

Katsuki looks at his knuckles briefly, scars and dents littered across them, still fresh in his memory; he'd punch and punch and punch until his fists were coated in scarlet, pain jettisoning from his chest to his hands, and back around. Concrete, metal, drywall; if he could reach it, his fists would make contact.

His reasoning was simple. If she felt something of what he felt, she'd calm the fuck down.

It only ever worsened.

Later in life Katsuki, in brief moments of solace, would recall his youth in scattered images, of how robbed of his childhood he truly came to be. What was a normal heart's pace, he asks then and now, _will I ever feel it?_ His frustration festers, courts his eventual anger at the situation. At her. _Does she fucking enjoy my suffering_ , he remembers wondering -he still wonders. _Is she out to prove herself?_

And over a bullshit game he was sure she never knew he was playing.

Katsuki breaks.

The pain is fresh in his mind; he hurts, every inch of him screams in protest each time his heart races, leaving the rest of him to suffer under its intense regime. He can never keep up, never outrun her, never outpace. _This time,_ Katsuki clenches his fist, _this time it will be enough_. He will win, he will beat her, and she will know his pain. _Let the games begin_.

And then just as he begins Katsuki falls, his legs suddenly weakened and numb. His heart slams against his cage —it's trying to escape. He can't breathe and his lungs scream. He reaches for his chest only to fall flat against it, his arm not enough to hold his weight. White noise consumes Katsuki and he's suffocating. Waves of agony wash over him, sweat beading on his brow, his forehead ground against the floor.

He hears a scream through the static —it's his own, his throat raw as the holler rips through it.

It lasts for an entire hour.

Katsuki remembers riding out the torment until it ebbs into nothingness, the normal irregularity of her erratic beating lulling him into a false calm. Faster, faster, slower. It's was only when the stolen air fills his lungs, him choking on its nihility that his anger dies, the maelstrom of rage courted in his crux diminishing that Katsuki realizes something he berated himself for having taken so long to figure out.

They weren't playing; she hadn't been for a very long time.

It's been years.

Katsuki often wanders, finding a place of solitude where he can be lost in the far recesses of his mind; he spends hours waiting, listening, feeling. He finds comfort in an enclosed stone structure not far from his own home. Here he studies her heart, studies how he's come to know her.

 _What the hell are you doing?_ For years he has suffered, for years its only worsened. He wonders if she knows just how fast it beats, how much it hurts. Does she know whatever it is she's doing makes it act this way? _What the fuck has your heart beating so fucking much?_

Overexertion? The tempting claws of adrenaline? Feeling?

 _This shit is getting on my last nerve_.

Katsuki rakes through his hair with an exasperated huff. He hopes his continual exhaustion is worth it for her, hopes the frustration and anger he keeps bottled deep down is appreciated by she who fate designed for him. He knows he could explode at any given moment; it would be justified. No one could blame him, dealing with what he deals with —maybe a taste of her own medicine would be good for her.

He always feels guilty though; it rushes through him and makes him uneasy, regret rents the space where rage often thrives. Katsuki screws his eyes shut, teeth gritting. He can't put her through that, he knows he can't. _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what._

And he has; through his anger at her, through his frustration, through his pain, he has always taken care of her heart to the best of his abilities. He deals because he _doesn't_ know what's going on. He often fantasizes about what could be taking place, each scenario turning out more elaborate than the last. He comes up with an idea. _Let's say shits different._

Her heart is his and beats the very same. Can he function? _Fuck no._ That much is obvious to him. He puts himself in her metaphorical shoes, runs over scenarios in his head. Can he run under these conditions? Can he jump? Can he problem solve? Can he fight? Can he do anything? _Again, fuck no_ , he decides. It would be much too difficult under the pain and stress. _But if it was calm..._

It's metaphorical he knows, but it helps him to understand something.

Katsuki keeps his heart, housed in her chest, as calm as possible because he doesn't know if that makes all the difference.

All Katsuki knows is that it isn't that simple.

It wasn't as if this was an occasional occurrence, after all, it spans years, a literal lifetime for him. Something this intense couldn't be that cut and dry. He knows her heart well he thinks, having guarded it all his life. All signs point to anxiety, uncertainty, fear. This is something she can't control.

He feels it in the apprehension that claws through his own veins.

Katsuki absentmindedly traces a heart overtop his own, willing the climbing beat to slow. What's fucking causing you this he silently questions over and over.

Relaxation is no more than a mere daydream that hangs tauntingly in front of him, sleep a foreign concept entirely. It isn't ideal, being without either, but he manages for her sake. Was she afforded that luxury, even if only for a moment? Could fear be keeping her from relaxing, from sleeping? Could fear be keeping her moving? Running?

 _Escaping?_

It's big what she's going through, this he's sure. He grips tightly the fabric of his jacket, feeling through its barrier her organ pounding against his skin. It climbing in pace, but still bearable. He can hear a faint thud; it's subtle, soft in tune and near drowned out by the noise around him but its there. Faster, faster, slower.

It's both foreign and familiar to him, a song he could listen to over and over, one he hates and somehow can't get enough of. Because of it, he spends his life in a constant race under the guise of calm, in fear of nothing and somehow everything it seems. It's irritating, yet somehow concerning. _Why should I fucking care?_

He never asked for a soulmate, never asked to have a heart other than his. He owes her nothing. She puts him through pain and he suffers for her.

If anything, she owes him.

Sleepless nights. Painful days. Depleted energy. Lack of breath. All of it, because of her. Katsuki paddles up a creek without an oar, all to care for the person who took his paddle away.

Katsuki lifts himself from against the stonewall, hands harshly shoved in his pockets. It's nearly night, the chill of the air bites against his exposed skin. It's almost time; he knows, he can feel it. It's like clockwork, it always has been -now, and back then.

Katsuki would wake hours before the sun rises, her heart frantic in its beats. It's a nuisance, beating with a tempo that should not be humanly possible first thing in the morning, a minor discomfort but he can breathe, he can move. It dulls shortly after, beats still paced. During the day it finds a rhythm.

Faster, faster, slower.

It keeps this pace throughout, siphoning his energy, leaving behind sharp jabbing sensations and a lack of oxygen in his lungs. Katsuki finds solace in his bed; he curls into himself, blanket shielding him from the world and he just lies there, teeth grit tightly against each other, nails digging into his skin. He keeps himself like this until the sun-kissed sky meets the shadowed horizon line. Faster, faster, slower.

And when the sun finally goes down?

Faster, faster. Faster.

Katsuki begs for the minor discomfort from earlier that day. He finds himself face to face with a maelstrom of emotions and aches that send him spiraling. He tries to move, a jolt of pain vibrating through him, chest heaving through the tiring beats and needle sensations pricking against his chest. _It hurts, it hurts so fucking much_ and Katsuki screams.

The very action siphons the remainder of his energy, his body finally falling weak to the floor with a resonating thud. The pain only grows, the beat of her heart reaching levels of speed he never thought imaginable. It didn't stop. _Please, just fucking stop_.

He thought her dying, thought she was going to take him down with her. The only sound around him was the chorus of screams that ripped from him, his mind running circles around his situation, coming to a screeching halt when his mother barrels through the door. _Her heart, it hurts!_ He cries to her in silence.

When he tries to voice his anguish, a scream replaces his words. He reaches for his chest, her heart near visible through his skin and she seemed to just know, pulling his dead weight from the floor and cradling him gently in her arms. It does nothing to ease his pain, but he welcomes it nonetheless. Its a distraction, the pads of her fingers running through his hair a focal point to which he could mask the agony.

He silently thanks her, passing out from the pain alone.

That night defined his life, every day since.

Katsuki huffs; he feels his breathing becoming more labored, his throat tightening —suffocation. His knees are weakening, tension in his legs gone; they're jello. He's not surprised, but prepared, leaning against the wall behind him. He braces himself for what he knows is to come. I can survive this.

Incomprehensible agony. A tightening in his chest forms that threatens to crush his frame and his legs give, unable to hold his weight. Katsuki slides down the wall fast, knees to dirt, the strength of defined arms the only thing keeping him from kissing the ground. Something he is used to doing.

In his affliction, on every occasion, he wonders what the fuck is going on; what the fuck is she so afraid of? Because fear is the only explanation, her only constant.

A question that spans a lifetime brings him from his knees. It's a fight against his own body, against his laboring heaves, against the feverish pace in which her heart leads. Katsuki brings tension back into his frame as he brings himself from the ground. It's slow, meticulous, painstaking but he rises with the wall as his support.

The pain worsens as he moves, but he ignores it; Katsuki finds his resolve.

 _Whatever the fuck is going on, I'm going to find out._

Katsuki takes a step. It shoots through his body, a knife to his chest but he manages, each step after easier than the one before. He muses her fear to be relenting, but knows it's not the case; his iron will and determination are what's fighting against the agony.

For only a moment, her heart lulls into a calm, the ache ebbing away and returning again. He feels it and wonders. Can she feel it? Does she feel his determination? His need to find answers? Does it bring her a sliver of peace of mind? Katsuki isn't sure but lets a small smile curl in his lips.

He is bitter, he is angry, he is frustrated. He is tired and drained and breaking and when he feels a falter, his steps grow more pronounced. She is the reason for it all and somehow the reason behind his strength.

He hates this, how she affects him in both the best and worst ways.

But was any of this for her?

Katsuki knows nothing of the girl whom fate deemed his, only her heart and its woes. _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what_. Where was her sacrifice? Where was his protection? Where was his care? Was it really only a one-way street? _Fuck that_. He holds resentment, contempt, anger in his heart and suffers from every wave of guilt that crashes over him for them.

Still, his feet keep moving.

His newfound journey has nothing to do with her, he decides, or at least not solely because of her; it perhaps never did. Katsuki would be his own savior in shining armor, his own rescuer, his own relief. He would end the trauma with his own hand. If it saves her in return, well that's just a bonus.

He ignores his mind plotting and scheming her safe welfare despite his negative feelings toward her because somewhere deep in the fucks he has left to give, he knows she's not doing it on purpose; it has never been intentional —his suffering, his agony. In her distress, his heart keeps beating, is alive and well, by extension himself. She has to cares, he knows she does.

He keeps this in mind when his anger rains hell down upon her name.

" _I'll save us both,_ " he whispers into the night, still fighting against the discomforting pain. Their suffering, no matter how or why, would end by his might and he would leave her behind, beginning his life anew with a newfound pace and a neutral beat —he hopes.

Katsuki rounds the corner, her heart beneath his hand, beneath his clothes, rising and falling, under the veil of his skin. He clutched it tightly. Faster, faster, slower.

Faster, faster, slower.

 _It's not for her, it's only to relieve the pain._


	2. Heart Skips

The roads are empty this time of night, lit solely by dimmed street lamps and the rays of the moon. His steps sound loudly in his ears, one after the other, muffled only by the occasional passing car speeding towards its destination. The air around him is brisk, chilled to the point his breath is visible, but it's not uncomfortable; it keeps him awake, alert, ready for anything and everything.

He doesn't know where he is, having ditched a decided path after a few hours and just wandered. Main Street, First Avenue; the street names sound familiar but mean nothing to him all the same.

 _Where do I even fucking start?_ Katsuki wonders silently, eyes flickering down the countless dark alleys as he passes them, finding no more than the occasional loiterer, long forgotten trash and a horrid stench that kept him moving on because _fuck_ does it stink.

He moves on, the odor seemingly trailing behind him. He veers off course —the stench is just too much and finds somehow a more barren street than he was previously on. Katsuki looks behind him, each side of him and forward before his feet start moving again, taking him down the elongated path.

It's dark, still, quiet, all outstanding noise drowned out by an impregnable silence. The hairs on the back of his neck stand erect and his core tightens. Hands at the ready, Katsuki prepared for anything. He is silently thankful for the light at the end of the tunnel, tension leaving his body the closer to it he gets.

Then there are footsteps.

They are barely audible, but there. They didn't belong to him, the resonating sound far off, slightly more paced than his own—they'd still some distance before he'd encounter them. Katsuki pauses; he listens, waits. Another second passes and another footstep is heard. _They're close._

His hand subconsciously goes towards his chest, the beat of her heart quickening much like it always did this time of night. It's ironic, Katsuki thinks, that her heart beats much like he assumes his would in this situation. He's sure she can feel his unease and he breathes, willing his own heart to remain steady.

For her sake.

All bets are off when a shadow rounds the corner.

They are hurried, evident by the sway of their body, the distance they manage to cover in such a short time only further confirming this thought. Katsuki continues moving, apprehension alive and thriving as he studies silently the oncoming. They are on the shorter side it seems; hair, eyes, everything is concealed behind a loose fit hoodie. He keeps his eyes trained on them as they prepare to pass, expecting to see a glimpse of something, anything that determines if they're a threat.

Katsuki gets nothing.

They brisk by him, shoulder to shoulder and it jerks him to the side a bit. He turns toward the stranger, a curse hinging on his lips. " _S… sorry._ "

It's a girl. Katsuki hears it in her voice, small and hushed, tainted with something he couldn't quite place. She turns her head, still shielded by her hoodie, and offers a smile in apology. It doesn't reach her ears, he notices.

It stops him in his tracks.

The curse dies on his lips, and Katsuki watches as she curls back in on herself, smile gone in an instant, continuing down some unseen path. She's terrified, of what though, he can't say. Was it him? Can't be. He's no danger; sure he has an attitude and a temper from the darkest pits of hell in some cases, but he's no predator. He doesn't expect her to know this of course and curses inwardly for having assumed she would.

Still how, in less than a few seconds, she made him feel like he was anything but what he truly was had him wondering if it was all that she feared, or just something, someone, in particular. More importantly, he finds a need to ask if she's okay.

The words don't materialize and by the time he comes to, nerves depleted and resolve found she's gone, rounding the next corner and disappeared in the shadows. Katsuki stands alone for a few moments, his mind spiraling. _What the fuck just happened?_

His fingers twitch, legs want to move but his body won't follow through. He places his hand against his clothed chest, the pads of his fingers rubbing against it, the familiar action grounding him. Katsuki takes a step forward, then another, a sudden demand to pursue the stranger taking hold of his mind—the hardened thump against his hand rights him and he stops. " _I don't have time for this shit,_ " he mumbles to himself, turning back on the turn where she fled.

One step after the other, left foot then right and his pace increases. The light in his path grows, and the silence gives birth to a hum of noise. Tires screeching, people moving, doors opening and closing. Katsuki breathes, all prior nerves dissolve at the semblance of the life beyond dark. Katsuki jogs for the light, for the bustling life and soon he's running. He can taste fresh air.

He feels pain.

It's not in his chest, though that ache had yet to ease away, but in his shoulder where he collided against another's. There is an air of superiority around him, his offense written across his features at the sheer audacity Katsuki has, bumping into him. " _Watch where you're going, you little shit,_ " he barks, straightening his jacket and correcting himself. Katsuki pays his words no mind.

He hears the insult, feels the anger bubbling inside of him and chooses to ignore it all. Katsuki stands, mumbles a quick apology -not without veiled spite- and keeps his pace towards the now exit of the alley because he really doesn't have time for the clusterfuck of problems he'd have to deal with had he decided to retaliate.

The Sigma strapped securely to his side, a major problem.

Katsuki hears the steps sound further away from him and breathes a sigh of relief he doesn't realize he's holding. He places again his hand on her heart. Faster, faster, slower. Faster, faster, slower. Her rhythm calms him, soothes him and Katsuki feels fine. He straightens his shoulders and sets himself back on course, goal in mind.

He almost ignores the next man that rounds the corner.

And the one after that.

Katsuki slows himself, hand on the edge of the building just as he reaches the light at the end of the tunnel. He turns his head to the left, feigning interest in what the street has to offer. His eyes are instead trained on the two men behind him. Similar suits. A similar air of superiority. A similar feeling of danger crawling up his own spine.

He looks beyond them, eyes straining to see what lay in wait in the dark -a figure. More importantly, the man with the gun; he's stopped, waiting. It takes the other two only minutes to catch up with the man, and only seconds for them to disappear into the shadows together. They were gone, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins slowly placates. Free of danger, Katsuki is clear to go on his merry way, trouble averted.

He doesn't move.

Katsuki is frozen in place, scarlet eyes shifting between the shadows, searching for something. He is unsure of his actions -or lack thereof, feet still firmly rooted in place- but he is sure of his curiosity gnawing at the back of his mind. An itch he can't seem to scratch. _They turned that corner, I'm sure of it_. He was willing to bet money on it, the shadow of their figures veering slightly to the right before he loses them in the black.

Katsuki takes a step backward, then another and another. The light, once shining so bright, dims in his path, his retrace of steps. He recalls a hurried girl, who started the path now followed, a hidden smile that doesn't reach her ears, a nervous apology; it hits him like a freight train.

He doesn't notice that his steps are quicker until he feels the wind in his hair, the rush against his face. _She turned that corner._ He's running, running after them, running after her.

Fear.

Katsuki heard it in her voice, he knows he did, and he has an idea why. He feels an inkling of a mirrored fear, and he silently berates himself for letting his otherwise calm die out; he's frantic, it's still unclear to him why it even matters to him, but he mutters an apology to she who houses his heart -knowing it was likely beating out of her chest- and sprints around the corner.

He's brought back to the alley, out of breath and the pungent odor from before climbs its way through his nose once again. Katsuki tried to ignore the stench, barely stopping the dry heave working its way up and out. Eyes dart left, right and left again, looking for any signal, any sign of where she went. _This is fucking stupid._ How the hell was he supposed to know where to go, barely knowing the way that brought him on his now interrupted journey. Katsuki huffs; he's ready to turn back.

A scream. A girl's scream.

 _That's a great fucking place to start._

Katsuki sprints down the street, following where he thinks he heard the shrill cry, checking every nook and cranny on his way. It's only by chance that he catches a glimpse of the huddled forms in his race, skidding to a stop and backtracking just as fast. Katsuki ducks around the side corner, careful to mask his presence, undetectable by sight and sound. He watches, analyzes the situation he's forced himself in.

The lane is lit only by the moon above and barely at that. It conceals nearly everything, but he hears enough to paint his own picture. He hates what he sees. _"Arghh!"_ It's her voice, strained and pitched but it's hers, he's sure of it. Katsuki hears her cry again and again and he feels a piece of a brick break from the wall he's hiding behind, watching as it crumbled in his tightening fist. _They're beating her_ , he concludes, and he's ready to explode.

He's out of breath, weaponless, out of luck. Katsuki smirks.

 _When's that ever stopped me?_

His feet start moving the minute he sees the man reach for his side, praying to every deity he knew that he gets to him before he could pull the trigger on her. Katsuki starts off at a quickened strut, still silent and undetectable and then it turns into a jog when he catches a glimpse of steel. He's nearly there, can clearly see every scrape, every gash, every scar -both aged and fresh. The closer he gets, the more he makes out.

She has brown hair; its saturated in blood, tresses falling across gashes on her cheek, darkened and moist. Her eyes are screwed shut, her teeth grit together. What catches his attention above all else is not their actions, as two of the three continuously beat her, but where her hands rest.

 _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what._

Katsuki hears the sound of a hammer being drawn back with a click and he sprints, damning the need for silence because he's run out of time. She's run out of time. He rushes the man with a strength he didn't know he possessed, just as the trigger was pulled. A shot fires.

It misses her by inches.

The man is disoriented, his weapon drops from the force of the impact and a string of curses falls like word vomit. Katsuki ignores him, darting towards the man closest the fallen girl, barely dodging a right hook aimed at his jaw. He closes the distance, fist into his stomach and the man curls over; Katsuki shoves him to the side, faced with another problem mere seconds later.

The third assailant has on a ring, Katsuki realizes, the edge of the jewels flattened top cutting against his flushed skin. It stings, beads of sweat slipping into the laceration, but he manages. It was nothing compared to what he faces every day. He rights himself in time for the second swing, blocks with his left and attacking with his head. White light bursts behind his eyelids and he falters, shaking off the sudden wave of nausea that hits him like a semi. _Click._

A loaded barrel is pointed right at him when he turns, staring him down and Katsuki can see the curved ridges on the inside of the metal. It's been used. Often. In situations like these, he's sure.

He sees his childhood in his eyes, his happiness, his sadness; it flashes before him, a movie without sound—black and white and mute. He doesn't need the commentary, he knows what happens—he's seen it all before. Lived it. Katsuki watches the seconds pass, the images come to an end and he knows what's next -if the smug, shit eating grin of his assailant is anything to go by.

But then he hears a beat in the midst of chaotic sound. An erratic beat. Her beat.

It revives him from his stupor; Katsuki can't let it end this way, moreover, he doesn't want to. She still needs me. His body moves on its own, hands raised, head ducked. Right arm thrust by his left he narrowly forces the weapon to the side; a shot fires in his ear.

 _Fuck, that was close._

His hearing is fried, a constant ring blaring loudly, but he thanks every understanding of a god that prevented him from being shot. Katsuki savors the sheer look of surprise on the man's face before he attacks. All of his strength—all of his anger, pent-up rage, frustration, anxiety, resentment, everything that embodies himself manifests into his fist; one explosive punch.

Katsuki makes contact, a satisfying sound of knuckle against jaw and is almost positive he injures his hand in the process. The man tumbles backward, his fallen body revealing one of the first assailants, the one he remembers kicking her. _Let's return the favor._ Katsuki spins on his heel, his momentum bringing his left leg up and into the attacker; he's in the crook of his neck and uses the leverage to take him down the rest of the way.

They're downed, and Katsuki knows it's only a matter of time before they get up; he's strong but knows his strength only stands on par so much when forced against someone twice his size—three someones.

One with a loaded gun.

In his haste he turns, grabbing the arm of the still floored girl, and stands her up; she's still bleeding, disoriented, but manages on her own two feet. " _Shit,_ " he mumbles, hearing movement in the distance and muffled curses, _"we gotta move now!"_ She clings to his shoulder and he doubles back, pushing them both towards the edge of the alley. One man is out cold, Katsuki notices, his body splayed against the ground, unmoving.

Another is almost completely upright, shaking off the pain and steeling himself. He's unaware of their position, and uses that to his advantage; he passes, kicking him in the head on the way— he doesn't look back, pushing with all his might forward, supporting himself, supporting her.

Metal scraping against concrete. He hears the gritty sound and a part of him panics, his feet moving faster, adrenaline spiked. _"Come on!"_ He shouts at her, a sense of urgency and nothing more, near dragging her to the edge, rounding the corner harshly just as another shot is fired.

It knicks the cornerstone wall just as they pass it.

They're running, bumping into people who suddenly flood the street. There are ten, twenty, so many people and soon he loses count, their faces blending and words blurred. Katsuki can pick out some, their questions, their panic- _"Hey, are you two alright?"_ , _"Hey, watch it!"_ , _"What's going on?"_ He ignores them all, keeps them moving further and further away from danger. _Bang. Bang._ The man unloads two rounds into the sky, and they're not the only ones running now. It's a maelstrom of bodies scattered, shoulder to shoulder, screams, and cries. Katsuki briefly wonders if someone is hurt in the confusion.

He can hear her panting, her movements slowing in comparison and he wonders how much farther she'll be able to go before breaking down completely-her injuries are still fresh, blood from the scar on her face has since saturated his shirt. Katsuki slows to a stop, head on a swivel in search of a place to rest, a place to hide.

 _There._

It's tucked away, dark; Katsuki may have missed it had he not purposely been looking for something similar to it. It's still too open for his tastes, despite the mess of people around to hide them -if he found it, it's likely they will too. He looks down at her at his side, decides to take a chance; he doesn't think she will make it after all. _"Come on round face,"_ he breathes, pulling her weight onto his side for support, leading them into their would be sanctuary, _"just a bit further."_

Katsuki takes her towards the back, further into the dark and sets her against the wall. It supports her enough, but he doesn't take his hands off of her. In the commotion he hears shouts, _"move out of my way,"_ they say, and footsteps grow louder. He knows who it is, what they're looking for and hopes to god they don't find them. Katsuki pushes against her frame, shielding her from onlookers should they happen upon them.

Faster, faster, slower.

 _"Shit,"_ Katsuki breathes, screwing his eyes shut; he can feel her eyes on him, questioning, but he ignores her. He places his hand to his chest; her beat is frantic as always, if not more and he feels guilty -his heart, he's sure, is beating out of her chest. He takes a deep breath, releases, repeats.

In, out. In, out.

 _Calm the fuck down, damn it_.

 _"What are you doing?"_ She whispers; he almost misses it, her voice soft, small, just as broken as before but less shaky. In, out. _"Long fucking story,"_ he mumbles, pausing to breathe, _"I don't know what she can take in her shit situation."_ He also doesn't know why he's telling her this but doesn't think about it. In, out. _"So I keep my shit calm so she doesn't have to deal with it too."_

Katsuki feels her stiffen but doesn't ask, feeling his breathing calm and focusing solely on that. In, out. In. Hold.

He hears steps in the midst of the noise masked in silence and nearly chokes on a breath, his body curling in on hers. She begins to speak and can't, his hand quickly to her mouth, breathing in her ear, _"stay quiet"_. Eyes shift to the side, head tilts only slight, following every move of the shadowed figure that stands in the far light. He doesn't pursue them, but he's there, searching the dark for someone, for them. It makes Katsuki uneasy, the hair erects on his neck, arms tense and ready. It's only when the figure moves on, unaware of their presence that he relents, removing his hand from her mouth and sighing in relief.

 _"Well that was fucking close,"_ He mutters, not quite ready to lower his guard, eyes still trained on the entrance, _"sorry about that."_ He feels her shake her head, hair brushing against him ever so -it's soft, despite the blood and sweat that resides. _"No, it's okay."_ She slides down the wall that supports her, breathing, her body tension ebbing away.

She's safe and relishes in the feeling.

 _"So, want to tell me what the hell that was all about?"_ Katsuki looks down at her; he notices how she clutches the sides of her jacket, closing it around her frame. She doesn't meet his stare. _"You shouldn't get involved,"_ she replaces her hood onto her head, _"it's better you don't know."_ Katsuki clicks his tongue, eyes wandering back to the entrance. They haven't returned, a good sign he decides. _"Think I'm pretty fucking involved, don't you?"_

 _"Anymore than you are."_ It's the first he's heard her voice and it surprises him— its firm in comparison to the softness from before, he's a certain level of sass that raises his brow. _Well, she's feisty. "Fair enough round face, then answer me this."_

She still doesn't meet his sudden stare, but she doesn't turn him down.

He gives her a few seconds before he speaks again. _"How long?"_ She doesn't answer; it grates on his nerves. Katsuki can almost see the gears in her head turning, trust or not trust, tell or keep silent. He doesn't blame her, and almost chokes when she speaks. _"Since I was a kid,"_ she says, wrapping her arms around her torso-shielding herself. Katsuki thinks she's done. She's not. _"My parents helped me get away the first time, I've been on the run since. They only just found me again recently."_

She stands suddenly, her back towards him. He wants to ask, the words almost falling from his lips without his sayso. _Who are they?_ The question is burning like a flame inside of him, only the answer able to douse it. Katsuki doesn't push, despite his need to know and suffers the scorch, something else gnawing at his mind in its place. She starts walking.

 _"Gun to your head and you put your hands over your heart. Why."_ He didn't understand it when she did it, and still doesn't even now. Instinct alone should have brought her hands to shield herself —if she dies, her soulmate dies. _"It's… it's complicated."_

 _"Simplify it."_

His voice is firm, and it startles her. She stiffens, closes in on herself, but doesn't shy away. _"They shoot my heart, they shoot him. They shoot my head, they shoot me."_ Katsuki groans, running his hand through his hair. _"That's fucking stupid,"_ he raises his voice, his negative emotions beginning to break through his wall of forced calm, _"they would die anyway, so why not take the chance at saving yourself? It saves him in the process."_

 _"That's not the point."_ She doesn't look back, doesn't need to see the scrutinizing gaze she knows he has; she doesn't expect him to understand. _"Then what is?"_ He tries to hide his frustration, but it's still there, he can hear it—she probably can too.

She takes a step, then another. Katsuki reaches for her arm to stop her, catching her wrist before she's able to get away. No _you fucking don't._ He is ready to rip into her and her recklessness, ready to regret saving someone who cared so little about who she is meant to protect. Katsuki waits for her answer, her retaliation, her fight, _something_.

She's tense, he can feel it as he holds onto her and wonders if she's going to shut down entirely, avoid and evade. She takes in a breath—it's shaky, uneven. _"Even if there's nothing I can do, I'll protect what's his before I protect myself -I owe him that much." Considering what I've put him through._

 _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what._

Katsuki forgets to breathe.

She pulls away, with little resistance on his end; his grip on her falls slack, his eyes widened and his mouth parts. He was wrong, so, so wrong. Replaying it all in his mind, what happened, her actions, it makes sense. She was willing to do anything, everything to protect it, even if on the outside it seemed illogical, reckless, stupid-something he wouldn't think to do.

She walks away and he watches her, all traces of spite and anger gone, respect and admiration replacing it. It's a contrast to their first encounter; her movements are still hurried, cautious but they're strong—she's felt a taste of safety and she looks as if she will defend to the death her right to feel it again.

He holds onto the picture of his selfless act, her strength restored and will revived, because of something he did without thinking. He saved her life, perhaps he can save his soulmate's too. This alone gives him strength and he tucks it safely in his heart, behind her beating organ.

He has to thank her, better yet he wants to.

 _"Wait!"_ Katsuki curses the urgency that slips in his words, even more, the way his hand reaches out for her, a stranger. She stops, waiting, for what she isn't sure but the way he called out to her freezes her; she can't move or doesn't want to. He brings his arm down, tucks it safely in his pocket. _Get your shit together._

 _"Katsuki."_ It's all he can offer, a way of dropping his walls for her, as she did for him—thanks for helping him help himself. She turns her head to the side, peeks at him and somehow through him. She is covered still by the hood of her jacket, but he swears he sees a curve, a twitch in her lips. She smiled, even if it was still entirely too small but there's no trace of fear molded with it. _"Ochako."_ She lifts her hand, her fingers curling in as if she wants to hold onto something, needs to.

Ochako is gone, around the corner, just like that.

He stands in place, still in a moment in time while the world paces around him and breathes. Despite the fear, the uncertainty he thrust himself in, running to protect her, he is calm and collected. Katsuki feels nothing—it's soothing, the lack of anything and yet he feels whole, feels everything at once.

He walks to the main street, glancing to his left —she's gone, but did he really expect her to stay? Katsuki clicks his tongue, shakes off the feeling of disappointment and turns in the opposite direction. A part of him did.

A part of him still does.

It's foreign, unwanted, causes more anguish than excitement. She is no one to him, a bystander in his journey to find her and somehow he finds himself looking back, swearing he hears her voice, her steps rushing back towards him. _This is fucking stupid._ It was, it is.

Katsuki distracts himself, hand to chest, her beat bringing him back to reality, his reality. It's erratic but not as bad as before he notices. Something's changed, and it fuels his urgency to her.

She's there, somewhere, waiting for him— for him to see her, for him to save her. To save himself. He walks away blind, one foot in front of the other, his mind focused entirely on her.

His eyes glancing back at the path Ochako took behind him.


	3. Stop Breathing

_There's something wrong._

So much is going on around him, the world alive despite also being asleep. From beyond the windows pane, Katsuki can hear cars driving by, the horn of one in response to some asshole clearly past the limit, he guesses. Footsteps beyond the wooden door, unfiltered laughter coming from somewhere. It's quiet, but loud all the same. He ignores it all because the only sound that matters is the sound he can't hear at all.

There are only a few hours before the sun rises and as always he's awake, the expectancy of discomfort, pain and raced tempo there as it usually is. Hand to her heart, he panics. _Where's the beat?_ Katsuki feels it beneath his layer of clothes, of skin; it's there beating, but still, it's not beating. _It's there, it's always there._ Pain builds in his chest and he breathes a sigh of relief, preparing for the worst that he knows will come.

Except it doesn't. It's gone.

Just like that; no warning, no nothing. Katsuki presses harder to his chest, almost through himself to feel her, to feel anything that resembles what he knows as normalcy (discomfort, pain, misery included). It starts again, a stitch in his side growing and then just as he braces himself, it slows, flattening out into a steady (albeit still raced) beat-something he was sure she was incapable of.

It repeats like this, climbing and climbing to slow before it reaches its peak. It's comforting, should be comforting, but all Katsuki feels is dread, panic. _What the fuck is going on with you?_ He sits up, back against the wall and listens, feels. It's foreign, the way it beats but somehow familiar all the same. It's never (ever) something she's done in their lifetime, of this Katsuki is one hundred percent sure but it resonates with him on a level akin to past actions.

His own actions.

 _What the actual hell._

The pace is familiar because it's a pace near identical to his own, something practiced from a young age and well into his days current. It is a burden he places upon himself, knowing very well he doesn't have to -more than that he wants to- so that she can have a semblance of peace in a life that deprives her of it. It's also a concept he's sure he's created, his more aggressive side easily having him believe so.

He realizes though it may not be the case, that he probably isn't the first one to ever come up with the idea and probably isn't the only one to practice it. Katsuki removes his hand from his chest and tightens it at his side, anger bubbling to the surface like boiling water with too much heat. The more he thinks about it, the tighter his grip gets, his knuckles as white as his clenched teeth. _Did she know?_

Because she could have spared him years, _years_ , of pain and ache if she did -and didn't; it ate away at him, past anger, bitterness, and frustration rising and spilling over until he's seething, regretting everything until that point. He knows he's overreacting because he _doesn't_ know if she knows and despite what his mind leads him to think, he can't believe she would really be that heartless. Feeling again the beat beneath his skin, he knows for a fact she isn't because he has it, her heart, and it beats against and for him. Only this brings him back to calm, fist unclenching and shoulders slacking. _So what changed?_

 _What the hell happened between last night and this morning?_

A lot. Too much has happened since he left his home until this moment, in a bed that's not his, in a part of town he can't name. Katsuki's encountered many faces, many places and a single thought strikes him. _Could I have already found her?_ It makes sense, he decides, a change this drastic that could have been influenced by an encounter, but when? He rakes his fingers through his hair, choosing to ignore the clumps and dirt laced within and the shower he so desperately needs.

There weren't many people to start, but he remembers staying to himself, eyes and ears keen to everything around him. A bad smell, a detour and multiple confrontations -one of which he would rather forget. There was the cluster of people in his hasty retreat, a cluster of blurred faces, but nothing, at least, that holds much merit. In fact, the only interaction that sticks out to him save the occasional glance and brush of the shoulder was with the alley thugs and her, Ochako, when he saved her; when he briefly spoke to her. When he told he-

 _When I told her._

He's never palmed his face harder.

Katsuki all but jumps off of the bed, mind in a whirl as he rummages for his belongings. Shouldn't there have been some sort of sign, some indication that he just found his goddamn soulmate, because that would have been helpful? He recalls stories of those who'd found theirs; how their eyes met, their hearts skipped a beat and they couldn't breathe. It always sounded painful to him -and he knows pain, but he's never felt anything like that. But did he actually see her? She kept her head down, hidden beneath her hood and he doesn't quite remember the shade of her eyes. _Well, no wonder I didn't fucking know._

Katsuki curses under his breath, reaching for his shoes. _This explains a lot._ And it did, so he does little to stop the guilt from consuming him. He was so very wrong in how he assumed she caused him pain for the thrill, wrong in how he assumed she cared so little while, on the inside at least, he cared so much. She was trying to spare him the torment, just a different kind-the permanent kind.

 _You take care of your soulmate's heart, no matter what._ She had, just not in the way he would have ever imagined. _"How long?", "Since I was a kid."_ Since he was a kid, too. She's suffered as he has, only infinitely worse. Her sacrifice, her protection, her care was there; it was always there. He doesn't deny the fury that grows, the realization that he knew, just _knew_ something was wrong and he could have done more. Could he have saved her sooner, himself by extension? _"Even if there's nothing I can do, I'll protect what's his before I protect myself -I owe him that much."_ Katsuki stops just short of the door.

 _Does she know?_

Is that why she wouldn't look at him, even after he'd slipped? He shakes his head. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't, but at that moment it didn't matter. He could ask her after he's made up for the years he's stood on the sidelines, cursing her name and unjustly fueling his own anger. He would be his own knight in shining armor, but more importantly, he'd be hers, because (knowing what he knows now) he owes her that much. He reaches for the handle, opening the door with a powerful swing. He'd just have to find her before those bastards did.

Only, they found him first.

He doesn't know how long they've been traveling; It's been a forced ride since they snatched him from his room, pushes and shoves in all directions and he's disoriented, anxious and pissed. _"Where the fuck are you taking me,"_ he seethes and they ignore him entirely. The bag over his head smells of something old, something unpleasant and he shutters every time he's forced to breathe.

His hands are tied behind him, the rope digging into his skin the more he moves. It begins to burn until he stops trying to break from the restraints. He's trapped, and there's little he can do about it other than fester in silence and keep moving. _How the fuck did they find me?_ Katsuki doesn't need an answer because it doesn't matter either way; they found him, and as he feels her newfound steady beat falter the further along they take him, he guesses they found her too.

And even then, she still tries to calm herself, her heart, for him. She's struggling, a constant battle of what once was fighting to overpower what now is, but she's trying, and he's more than grateful for it because it gives him time to think —especially since there's not much else he can do.

Katsuki supposes in the grand scheme of things it's a stroke of luck him being captured, even if the sword presented was doubled in edge; it was his original goal to find her and he is, just not in the way he planned. Or hoped. He cracks a smile beneath the cover of the bag. _Don't worry, Round Face. I'll save us both._

Of course first, he'd have to figure out how to do that.

 _"We found the little shit, boss."_ Katsuki feels a palm to his shoulder and a hard shove, his legs stumbling over one another until he hits the ground hard. White searing pain shoots through his head once it makes contact and he hears nothing but static. He's temporarily blinded once the bag is ripped off, his vision blurred for a few moments before it clears. He doesn't like what he sees.

Mere feet in front of him is Ochako, knees to the ground, hands tied and worse looking than he remembers leaving her. Katsuki studies her; There are new wounds on her, fresh blood spilled and he wonders just how long they've had her since he left her. How, when by all other reason she shouldn't, she managed to falsify her newest beat for him. Next to her, sigma in hand is the man from before. He's still bruised and it almost makes Katsuki grin.

 _"I've been waiting to finish what I started all those years ago,"_ he begins, circling her like a predator, _"and even with the minor disruption,"_ he looks to Katsuki briefly, _"it looks like my patience will be rewarded —and with interest."_

With the barrel of his piece, he lifts her head from beneath her chin and forces it upward. Ochako resists, earning a more demanding shove. Her face is brought into view and Katsuki commits it to memory; her hair is just as brown as he remembers it, framing her face with little effort, the ends curling in. She has eyes that resemble drops of chocolate, brown and sweet but they don't lock into him, instead onto everything but him it seems. _Why won't you look at me?_

The man doesn't miss this.

 _"Oh come now little one, don't you want to see your soulmate before you die?"_ Ochako doesn't answer, her gaze firm towards the sky, away from them, from him. _She knows then,_ Katsuki learns, and somehow through her, they learned it too. The man grabs her face, his fingers tightly gripping her cheek and rips it towards him; she yelps from the sudden snap of her neck and the discomfort she feels as he holds her. _"Don't fucking touch her you piece of shit!"_ Katsuki shouts, all inhibition out of the window, forgetting who stood behind him until he's pummeled to the ground.

Everything hurts; He turns his cheek just before making contact, but it spares so very little. Katsuki can taste where his tooth drove into his lip, where the blood spills from the separated skin to the ground beneath. His mind is in a fritz, thoughts scattered and vision blurred but he has no time to recover; they pull him upward harshly and he grunts, cursing when his wrists tug against the rope —still burning.

Ochako still doesn't look to him, even as his collapse sounds loud, jaw in a firm line and eyes glossing over. She hides her reaction behind practiced indifference, but he can feel her emotion, the way her heart paces faster and faster. She's hurting because he's hurting, and it hurts him even more than anything they could do.

 _"Look at him, you won't be given the chance again."_ He backhands her and it echoes in her ear, in his ear. Her balance is thrown off but she gathers herself in time, the stinging sensation on her cheek throbbing. She is of ice and steel, cold and detached, threatening when she glares back at them until she finally meets Katsuki's concerned gaze.

Heart's skip.

Breathing stops.

Katsuki, in her eyes, sees a life of deprivation, cold and lonely and he watches as they soften, glossing over the more of him she takes in; her barriers are gone for that moment and he sees everything she hid — affection, concern, interest, and regret. He's warm, too warm, past anger and frustration softening away, leaving behind a bare shell of what he remembers he was like before —open, wanting.

Katsuki is vulnerable to her, in a way he didn't think he could be and he doesn't want to look away until he hears it, the telltale sound of a hammer drawn back. He panics, rushing forward to move her out of the way, shield her, _anything_ but he can't, sets of arms grabbing tightly onto him, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn't move again, wrists bound and options limited, watching helplessly as time slows.

The man points the gun at her, aimed where he can't see, but it's at her and that's not fucking okay. Katsuki looks to her, terror in his eyes and stops breathing.

 _Thank you_ , she mouths to him, a sad smile on her lips.

He pulls the trigger and doesn't miss this time.

 _This isn't real._

 _This isn't fucking happening._

 _"OCHAKO!"_ It's louder than he's ever screamed before in his life, louder than he ever hopes to scream again. His eyes burn and all he sees is red, a new anger, new hatred new adrenaline brewing within and he frees his wrath without little hesitation.

Their hold on him loosens and he takes advantage of the opportunity, turning to his left to slam his head into an assailant with all his might, in the same breathe bringing his left leg around to kick the other. They tumble and he runs forward as fast as he can, hoping they were down but not wasting time to find out. His steps are echoing; Katsuki hears them through the noise of his fury and he knows the man standing above Ochako can hear them too.

For the second time, he's staring down the wrong end of a barrel and closes his eyes, willing his legs to move faster, _get to him first damn it!_

Katsuki slams into his chest, stealing his breath and forcing him to drop his weapon. He braces himself so that he doesn't tumble down with him, holds back a curse as he forces his hands to separate as much as possible, jumping high enough to bring his hands —tied in the back— towards the front. His skin rips further and fuck _that shit stings_ but he can use them, so he does.

Katsuki drops onto the man's torso and holds him down; staring into his eyes he looks for some source of regret, humility, anything to justify him surviving the hellstorm he planned to rain down on him. He finds nothing.

He's staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer as he smiles maliciously.

Katsuki raises his tied fists and rushes them down, again and again, and again until he's afraid he can't quit. Every hit is for something different; one for the years he spent in agony, one for the years she spent afraid, one for the ringing in his ear from the first shot hours ago, one for every scar that littered her frame on their behalf. His last hit rains down with every ounce of bottled and free anger, devastation, hurt, and regret he feels — his last hit is for her, with the promise that he will _never_ touch her again.

His breathing is strained, heavy, ragged and his eyes are clouded over, but he sees the shadow standing hauntingly over him and freezes when he hears another shot sound in the silence.

Katsuki doesn't feel anything.

He waits, and waits and still feels nothing, looking down expecting to see blood staining his clothes and spreading. There's nothing. Katsuki turns his head slowly, coming face to chest with the attacker he kicked, ready with a knife to end him where he sat only he's distant, looking off into nothing; it's like he doesn't see the blonde in front of him. _Shit,_ Katsuki breathes, watching as the blood he expected to spread on himself spreads across the man's chest instead until he finally drops to his knees, then flat with a thud.

Katsuki searches for the shot's origin, his body tense and on the offensive. Scarlet meets chocolate and only then does he relax because she saved him and, despite all odds, she's alive. At least, until she falls flat on her back, gun dropping from her hand. _"Shit, Ochako!"_ Katsuki runs to her side in a matter of seconds, spotting the wound just above where he imagines his heart is and feels the dread instantly wash over him.

He rips apart a sliver of his shirt and stanches the area with it, noticing how it quickly becomes saturated but holding onto some hope that it will fucking stop. _"Come on round face, you have to stay with me,"_ he pleads pressing harder against her chest.

Then he feels it.

For the first time in his life, his heart is beneath the palm of his hand and it's beating so erratically. Katsuki breathes out a strained chuckle, absentmindedly grabbing onto her hand and bringing it to his chest, letting her feel her own. He listens to it too, beating in rhythm with one another. Faster, faster, slower. Faster, slower, slower.

Slower, slower, slower.

 _Shit, shit, SHIT._

They're slowing, his and hers, and he doesn't know much time they have left. She drops her hand from his chest and he scares when she doesn't move again, pressing against her harder. He can't breathe and doesn't try, too concerned with her lack thereof and the slowing of their organs. He feels faint but holds on, because there's no way in hell he's giving up that easily; he just found her, just saved them both, after all.

Katsuki hears sirens in distance and prays to every form of God he knows that they will make it in time.

He brings his head down to hers, resting against her forehead, eyes screwed shut. He only wanted to save her, save himself, to walk away in the end with a new beat and a fresh start. This is not how he imagined finding her, nothing like how he imagined they'd meet, learn, and interact. It was worse, so entirely worse.

As he feels someone rip him off of her, fighting against their hands until they take his place, he realizes he might not even be able to walk away as originally planned.

And as long as they save her, maybe that was okay.

Katsuki sits in the back of an ambulance, watching with smug satisfaction the two assholes get shoved into the back of the police car, enjoying thoroughly the rearrangement that was one of their faces by his hand. A part of him is glad he didn't do permanent damage, the guilt more than likely more than he could deal with but wishing he did because the fucker deserves it all the same. They drive off, his eyes immediately returning to Ochako, strapped into another vehicle not far off, hooked up to more wires than Katsuki could count.

He places his hand to his chest and waits; it's faint but steady, comforting in more ways than one. _She's alive_ , he breathes, eyes never leaving her, _she's gonna make it._ The ambulance revs to life, gear packed and feet shuffling —in the commotion he slips into the back with Ochako, ignoring the side glance given to him by the woman tending to her. She doesn't remove him, and he silently thanks her for it.

He's tired, so very tired and his body sinks into the small space he's claimed as his own, tension melting away instantly. His eyes are heavy, teetering between open and close and he reaches for something to ground him.

Her hand.

It's pale and delicate and soft, much too cold for his liking but it's warming up in his hand and he squeezes. She's there, within his reach, with a steady beat for the first time in their lives. _I found you Round Face, and we saved each other._ One eye snaps open when he feels her hand move around in his and finds lidded eyes and a tired smile. _"Katsuki?"_

 _"Shut up,"_ he lightly chides, closing his eye as he fights against exhaustion long enough to reassure her he's there —and there to stay, _"we can talk later."_ And they would, because there was no longer the fear of the what was to come, the dread of not knowing. There was no more sleepless nights, no more restless days, no more pain. There was only time.

Ochako squeezes his hand. _"Okay."_


End file.
